


footprint(s)

by emkat97



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eight, Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Hacking, Internet, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Post-Canon, Team as Family, but aren't we all?, nine is so in love with lou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15602157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emkat97/pseuds/emkat97
Summary: You didn't think Nine-Ball would make it through the entire heist without hacking into everyone's phones, did you?or, Six Times Nine-Ball Was A Pretty Good Friend and One Time Lou Miller Was, Too.





	footprint(s)

**Author's Note:**

> me: ooh what if i write a fun piece about nine-ball finding funny stuff on everyone's phones lololol  
> brain: nice, but consider this......she doesn't have the greatest social skills and hacking is her way of feeling close to everyone  
> me: ...........what  
> brain: dO IT
> 
> hello friends!! so this is kind of a new direction for me. it was going to be chapter 8 of 'after' but then it kept getting longer and longer, so i figured why not make it its own thing??? it should be noted that these do NOT occur in order; some are pre-heist and most are post. If you're curious and want to read things chronologically:
> 
> Pre: Rose, most of Tammy, most of Debbie  
> Post: Amita, Constance, end of Tammy, Daphne, Lou, end of Debbie
> 
> I love you all so much, please leave comments!!!

“You know your footprint is a disaster, right?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your. Foot. Print.”

 

Nine-Ball had to suppress a giggle right then and there. Debbie Ocean might’ve been a legendary con woman, but she was also a woman in her mid-40’s, and women in their mid-40’s just weren’t good with technology. Debbie, for one, was laughably bad. And yeah, there was the whole “I just spent five years in prison” thing, but _still_. Bitch was borderline _inept._

Nine hadn’t intended to do a deep-ass search on every single member of the team, but she was able to justify it to herself. She liked knowing who she was working for and working alongside. In a weird way, it helped her feel closer to them. She didn’t talk a lot; didn’t have that much to say, really. But other people fascinated her, and this team in particular was _extremely_ fascinating.

 

*

 

She had to give Debbie some credit, she’d listened to her. Cleaned a lot of her shit, not even three days after Lou had brought Nine to the loft for the first time. Debbie was stubborn, but she was willing to work on her shortcomings. It was cute, really, the way she’d change her password every twelve hours as if it would actually throw Nine-Ball off her game.

 

She didn’t even need her little cracking rig to know that every single password had something to do with either Danny or Lou.

 

Ah, Lou. Nine couldn’t quite put her finger on what was going on between them yet. It was some sort of unspoken thing, the way they were always so tuned into each other, yet worlds apart at the same time.

 

Debbie had left in a huff after getting thoroughly schooled by Nine that first afternoon, and Lou had leaned against the wall gazing after her, an indecipherable look on her face, which Nine-Ball made every effort to crack with one simple sentence.

 

“So, y’all fuckin’ or...?”

 

Lou glanced at her over her shoulder and let out a low chuckle. She stalked off towards her bedroom before tossing a response over her shoulder: “It is what it is.”

 

Somehow, that was all Nine-Ball needed to hear.

 

They were such a constant push-and-pull, those two, and the epitome of “will they or won’t they”, if “will they or won’t they” actually meant “just make it official”. Everyone could see it. Everyone was _waiting for it._ But they held back. And maybe it was for the sake of the job, or maybe Debbie had a _lot_ of apologizing to do. Nine wasn’t sure, but she was leaning towards the latter.

 

So she wasn’t entirely surprised when the only things Debbie actually searched for on her phone were prices of flower bouquets, or limited edition vinyl records, and the only texts she shot off were to Lou (who was listed in her contacts as three heart emojis). A quick “thinking of you xx” with a picture attached, a stupid joke in the middle of the afternoon...they were so goddamn _domesticated_ Nine couldn’t stand it.

 

After a particularly stressful day one week before the heist, when Lou and Debbie were at each other’s throats, Nine-Ball had pulled up Debbie’s phone once more and sent “I love you”, without really considering the consequences, or the fact that dropping the L-bomb for what she figured was the first time over text was an incredibly bold move.

 

She got lucky.

 

“Don’t fuck with me. You mean this?” The crew could hear how strained Lou’s voice was; for a criminal, she really should have invested in a warehouse headquarters with thicker walls.

 

Debbie caught on quick. “Always have,” she replied after a beat, voice low and utterly sincere.

 

The sound of someone’s body being pushed up against a wall so violently actually stirred Rose from her nap.

 

A collective sigh of relief filled the living room air before everyone dispersed, not exactly keen on sticking around to listen to what was about to happen in Lou’s bedroom.

 

A few hours later, Debbie emerged, positively glowing even though her hair was totally out of place. She smiled at Nine-Ball and grabbed her arm before they all went to bed later that night.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. Y’all need to keep it down. It’s weird for the rest of us.”

 

Debbie laughed. “No promises. And no complaints! After all, this is your doing.”

 

“Yeah, and I regret it already.”

 

She didn’t, of course. And seeing the way Debbie and Lou worked together so effortlessly, partners in everything, she never would.

 

Especially when Debbie enlisted her to help with the proposal.

 

Hacking into the Met again, two years later, had been simple (okay, it was a _little_ harder than last time), and lighting up a private exhibit full of fairy lights had been even simpler.

 

And as the rest of the crew crowded around the live feed streaming on Nine’s computer, squealing when Debbie got down on one knee, she realized that there wasn’t any other place in the world she’d rather be.

 

*

She wasn’t quite sure _what_ to expect when hacking into Rose’s laptop. From what she had gathered, Rose was a genuinely kind and talented individual, but a bit of a basket case. She was flighty, and the day she scanned the Toussaint marked the first time in a long time that Nine-Ball had actually held her breath.

 

Frankly, it was a little bit of a letdown when she discovered that Rose’s computer was relatively normal. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for exactly; maybe some downloaded copy of the Kama Sutra, or YouTube videos of her reciting the entirety of Shakespeare’s tragedies, play by play.

 

Nope.

 

Just a lot of sketches, in programs that Nine-Ball didn’t even know about. How Rose was able to create a flawless design in Microsoft Paint was beyond her.

 

There were a few Google searches they’d have to discuss, primarily “all my friends are criminals” and “how to survive in prison” but other than that...

 

The only thing that truly peaked Nine-Ball’s interest was the presence of 7 Cups Of Tea on Roses’ frequently visited sites page. “The World’s Largest Emotional Support System”, it said. She briefly considered hacking into Rose’s account, but ultimately decided against it.

 

There were certain things that should be left alone, and Rose’s mental health was one of them. God knows Nine didn’t want anyone finding her therapist’s records when _she_ went as a teenager. Nuh-uh. She wiped them for a reason.

 

That didn’t stop Nine from sneaking a little Post-It Note onto the mannequin where Rose was throwing together a paper-clip version of the Toussaint. She had darted out of her room at four o’clock in the morning, right after Rose had hung her head and gone to bed for the night. That’s another thing Nine noticed about her; Rose was always dissatisfied with her work. She loved what she did and she did it damn well, but it was never quite good enough.

 

That feeling of inadequacy, they’d all been there before. It sucked.

 

When Rose snatched the piece of paper off the mannequin a mere four hours later, she stared at it for a while, then clutched it tightly, held it to her heart. She looked around suspiciously, eyes moving from Debbie to Lou and back to Debbie for a second. She hadn’t even suspected Nine-Ball, who sat grinning behind her laptop’s screen, and why would she?

 

_You’re beautiful and stronger than you know! We’re so lucky to have you on our team :)_

It wasn’t really Nine’s style, but if Rose needed to hear it (and she did), she was more than willing to make a temporary attitude adjustment.

 

*

 

Constance didn’t even make an effort.

 

Nine-Ball never saw her without her phone. It was the most expensive thing she had ever purchased (well...stolen), and while there was _no way_ she was ever going to willingly hand it over, she didn’t care enough to leave it password-protected.

 

The first thing Nine noticed was that Constance played a lot of Fruit Ninja.

 

The second thing she saw was that she did _literally everything_ from her phone. She had just assumed that Constance had actually gone out and bought a laptop after becoming a multi-millionaire so she could have some decent editing software for her videos, but apparently, that wasn’t the case.

 

She had to applaud the girl’s work ethic. She spliced all those videos together and uploaded them from one device. It probably took hours and hours of work just for one measly ten-minute vlog.

 

The phone had so much recorded video on it, it was almost out of storage space. Evidently, Debbie and Lou’s insistence that they cover their tracks no matter what they did didn’t sink in for Constance.

 

Debbie had been furious when one of Constance’s first vlogs featured a minor subplot about her “super gay moms” – Constance would walk into random rooms and inevitably find Debbie and Lou in one compromising position or another. They weren’t angry because they were _shy,_ obviously; Lou walked around the loft naked on a regular basis. No, there were other reasons.

 

“I just got out of _prison_ , Constance! I _do not_ _need_ to go “viral”, whatever the hell that means! Sounds like you have a communicable disease,” Debbie mumbled to herself before storming out of the room.

 

Lou sighed heavily and slid Constance a crisp $50 bill (just because they were all millionaires now didn’t mean that Constance didn’t still enjoy some good old-fashioned bribery). “She stays off the grid for a reason. We all do. She’ll come around, just...take that one down for now, yeah?” Lou stuffed her hands in her pockets before wandering off in Debbie’s general direction.

 

Constance tried her hardest to look irritated, but Nine could tell she was genuinely feeling a little hurt. The whole “moms” thing had started out as a joke, but the crew knew she looked up to them more than she would ever admit, Debbie in particular.

 

“Let ‘em do their thing,” Nine had told her when Constance rolled onto the couch, wordlessly setting her phone on the coffee table and pulling her knees up to her chest. “How’d you like it if they put _your_ relationship on blast?”

 

“That wouldn’t happen.”

 

“How you know?”

 

Constance blinked. “I’m not in a relationship. Romance is for idiots.”

 

Nine-Ball rolled her eyes. “Not the point, man.”

 

“They hate me now.” Constance spoke quieter than Nine had ever heard her.

 

“What? No, they don’t.”

 

“They _do.”_

“They really don’t.”

 

When Constance didn’t respond, Nine reached forward and grabbed Constance’s phone, shoving her to the other side of the couch when she tried to lunge for it. Constance had fast hands, but somehow Nine-Ball was just a little bit faster this time around.

 

“Look.” Nine-Ball pulled up a video on the phone and quickly imported it into her own laptop.

 

“What are you – ”

 

“Just shut up.” She pressed play.

 

With all the videos collecting up, Nine-Ball figured there had to have been unused footage. And sure enough, she found a treasure trove and went to work.

 

Constance had a habit of telling really, really bad jokes and trying to catch reactions to them on-camera. Problem was, the really bad jokes were starting to become kind of endearing, and –  although no one on the team would ever admit it – _good_.

 

As Constance watched the series of clips that Nine-Ball had spliced together, each one featuring a different, successful joke aimed at a different crew member, her smile grew wider and wider. Nine paused the video right after one of Constance’s favorite puns caused Debbie to snort and almost choke on her earl grey tea.

 

“You’re _funny_ , dude. You know it, we all know it. None of us could _ever_ hate you, even when you fuck up. Especially not moms,” Nine added with a roll of her eyes. “They brought you on for a reason.”

 

Constance nodded a little bit, then pounced on Nine-Ball with all the force of a gigantic horse in heat, peppering the top of her head with tiny kisses, repeating “thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou” at lightning speed. Nine shoved her away and Constance pointed a finger in her face. “ _You_ , Leslie, are an _excellent friend._ ”

 

“Don’t call me Leslie.”

 

But Constance was already halfway to Debbie’s room, screaming “MOM!!!! Wanna hear a joke???”

 

Nine-Ball flinched a bit and swore to herself that she was _not_ responsible for whatever was about to happen in there.

 

*

 

Tammy had an iPad.

 

She used her iPad a lot more than she used her phone, and that was saying something, because Tammy was constantly on her phone, whether it be with her contacts or her children. Knowing Tammy, there was a good chance she’d be bringing in imports for Deb at 4:30, then checking math homework at 4:35.

 

Nine-Ball had never seen someone’s fingers move across a screen so fast, not even her own. She would tap the iPad violently, all of the stress she was feeling coming out in the way she abused it. Tammy was strung out, sure, but _shit_ , couldn’t she fuck up a stress ball or something? Not a $350 tablet? If Nine’s mom had ever seen her touching her tech like that, she would’ve gotten her ass beat _so_ bad.

 

“Dammit!”

 

Tossing the tablet onto the end of the couch, Tammy buried her face in her hands before collapsing back into her seat.

 

“You good?” Nine-Ball raised an eyebrow in Tammy’s direction.

 

Tammy rolled her eyes. “I’m...fine. Everything’s fine. Trouble at the kids’ school, that’s all. Last-minute PTA meeting, and I have to make cupcakes tonight, and...I have to go. Tell Deb I’m sorry, I’ll be back tomorrow.” With that, Tammy pulled her coat around her shoulders and hurried out of the loft, leaving the iPad on the couch.

 

Huh.

 

Even for Tammy, that was _weird_.

 

Staring at the screen, she was amused. Pages and pages of apps, all organized by color. Nine-Ball never figured there would be so many Paw Patrol games in the App store. Guess you learn something new every day.

 

She had no idea what was waiting for her upon accidentally clicking the innocent-looking YouTube icon. For whatever reason, it had been hidden towards the end of a folder labeled “Gardening”.

 

That was how Nine-Ball discovered that somehow, some way, inexplicably, Tammy was into some super deep shit on the dark web.

 

Okay, maybe she was exaggerating a bit. It was heavy stakes gambling – certainly far more tame and far more legal than most of the things on the dark web. But looking at old threads of messages and her history of blackjack losses, it was clear that Tammy was out of her element, spiraling towards inevitable disaster.

 

She owed almost $3 million to a variety of terrifying looking men.

 

What the _fuck_ , Tammy.

 

And it had been Nine-Ball’s own fault for looking into her at 5:30 in the morning – as her eyelids drooped, she had set the tablet down, totally forgetting to click out of the app. When Tammy unlocked the iPad the following morning, she had almost choked, slamming the tablet down on the table. Nine-Ball must have made panicked eye contact because Tammy narrowed her eyes immediately and whisked Nine off into a private corridor (one of Debbie and Lou’s preferred makeout spots, but that was irrelevant).

 

“First of all, it’s not what you think.”

 

“...okay.” Nine-Ball glanced back towards the living room where half of the crew had poked their heads in Nine and Tammy’s general direction.

 

“I just...” Tammy sighed before closing her eyes. She was clearly on the verge of tears. Nine-Ball put a reluctant hand on her shoulder, gave it a pat. She was never good with comfort; she hated hugging people, Veronica being her only exception. Hopefully, Tammy would be able to keep it together, at least until _nope,_ there were tears. Shit.

 

“I really need this job to work.” Tammy’s eyes gleamed as she wiped her eyes and stared at Nine-Ball. “I’ve come into some...unforeseen expenses, and I need to get these guys paid off.”

 

“What kind of expenses?”

 

Tammy bit her lip.

 

“Shit...are you _pregnant_? Ain’t you already got two of them kids?”

 

Tammy waved her hands around Nine-Ball’s shoulders in an effort to keep her quiet. She ran a hand through her hair, tousling the typically perfect blonde waves, making them appear more than a little unruly.

 

“Don’t tell anyone.”

 

Nine-Ball’s eyes widened. Damn, she wasn’t expecting to be _right..._

“Especially not Deb. She’ll think I’m a liability and they’ll find another fence. They know so many people...I just wasn’t expecting this to happen, I haven’t even told Ben yet, and if I can just hold out for _one more month_ then everything will be okay...” Tammy trailed off as her breath became more and more labored.

 

“Tammy. Calm down.” Nine placed her hands on Tammy’s shoulders. “Relax. It ain’t my place to say anything. You’re good.”

 

Tammy nodded. “Thanks.”

 

“But be careful. All the stress can’t be good for the baby, or something. You know what you’re doing?”

 

Tammy smiled. “I know what I’m doing. Thank you.”

 

Nine-Ball didn’t believe her for a minute.

 

So when the heist went off without a hitch (mostly), one of the first things she made sure to do with her cut of the money was hack into Tammy’s iPad once more.

 

The amount owed had increased to 3.4 million.

 

Glancing over her shoulder at Tammy, who stood in the kitchen swirling some sparkling water around in her wine glass, the debt was cleared with a few keystrokes.

 

It had taken about a week for Tammy to notice, before breathlessly announcing her pregnancy to the rest of the group. They never spoke about it again, but it was not lost on Nine-Ball that Tammy chose her to be her third child’s godmother over anyone else.

 

*

 

Amita didn’t need to hide anything on her phone. What was on there was already embarrassing enough.

 

The woman spent most of her time, unsurprisingly, on Pinterest. The amount of organization was astounding.

 

There was a board for weddings.

 

A board for flowers.

 

Three different boards for dresses, separated into casual, semi-formal, and formal.

 

And of course, a Taylor Swift board.

 

Nine had never understood Amita’s obsession with the singer-songwriter. It was clear to her that Rihanna was the far superior pop star, and she had been more than a little disappointed when they robbed the Met Gala and she was nowhere to be found.

 

But Amita loved Taylor.

 

“I’ve been a fan since 2007,” she admitted eagerly, still a little hungover the day after the heist. She was wearing a _Speak Now_ tank top, obsessively refreshing the Taylor Nation Twitter feed as the first show of the _Reputation_ World Tour was about to begin. She had made popcorn and was waiting on live updates so she could play the music and dance along to the setlist as it was happening.

 

“The music industry celebrates white mediocrity and Taylor Swift is a prime example of that,” Constance exclaimed, in and out of the living room in a flash.

 

“I don’t care!” Amita yelled back.

 

Nine was not expecting Amita to start crying when Taylor first appeared onstage. She also wasn’t expecting her to scream-sing along to every word, or break out some extremely ridiculous dance moves when “Look What You Made Me Do” started to play.

 

Nine barely registered the door opening as Debbie and Lou spilled into the loft, tripping over each other’s feet as they struggled to pull each other’s coats off and rush towards the bedroom. But the sound was not lost on Amita, who squealed and pulled Lou over to the couch before Debbie could stop her.

 

“ _Hey!”_

“I’ll give her back in five minutes, Deb, but I need my dance partner!” She was already bouncing up and down aggressively, gyrating like a chicken as the opening beats of “Shake It Off” came blasting out of Amita’s BlueTooth speaker.

 

At this point, it was common knowledge to the crew that Lou was also a Taylor Swift fan, and they took every opportunity to tease her about it.

 

Lou shrugged at Debbie apologetically, in a “what do you expect me to do” gesture, and half-heartedly began dancing as well. Anything to appease the small brunette in the eight-year-old tank top that didn’t fit her anymore.

 

It didn’t take long, however, for Lou to get _genuinely into it_. After three minutes, 39 seconds, and enough hair flips to fill a L’Oreal commercial, they were giggling like idiots until Debbie stalked towards them and had to physically drag Lou to their room.

 

“Sex over Taylor? I see how it is,” Amita called after them as the next song started to play.

 

Nine was cringing harder than she’d ever cringed in her life.

 

This was sad to begin with, but now it was becoming straight-up _pathetic._

Or so she thought.

 

Until she walked into the loft one night to the sight of Amita gorging herself on Rose’s Nutella, tissues piling up around her on the couch.

 

“MetLife is completely sold out,” she squeaked. “All three shows. I can’t go see Taylor.”

 

She was actually shaking.

 

Nine-Ball didn’t bother bringing up that Amita could acquire tickets to another show, or charter a private plane, or do _literally anything_ to change the situation. The girl was obviously heartbroken.

 

So Nine did what she had to do.

 

And when a pair of tickets that just _happened_ to be floor seats and just _happened_ to also include a meet-and-greet just _happened_ to show up at the loft the next day, Amita gaped at them for approximately three seconds before fainting.

 

As Nine-Ball settled a pillow under Amita’s head, she made sure to set the tickets in her purse so they wouldn’t get lost.

 

She wondered if Lou would mind if Nine went with her instead. Those songs were getting stuck in her head as of late.

 

*

 

The majority of Daphne Kluger’s Google searches were about herself.

 

Because of course they were.

 

What Nine didn’t expect, however, was the amount of self-loathing she seemed to harbor.

 

_daphne kluger fat_

_daphne kluger ugly_

_daphne kluger bitch_

_daphne kluger whore_

The list went on and on.

 

Nine hadn’t really taken the time to _consider_ Daphne Kluger. When she stormed into Lou’s loft that fateful day, Nine had been pretty fucking stoned. As usual. And weirder things had happened while she was high.

 

She wrote her off almost immediately, as did most of the rest of the crew. But as she spent more and more time with them, Nine grew to appreciate having her around. She was blunt, to the point, and honest to a fault. She lit a fire under their collective ass, and honestly? They needed it.

 

Now, Nine couldn’t remember a time when Daphne Kluger _wasn’t_ in their lives, for better or for worse.

 

They were all huddled around Lou’s flat screen TV, watching Daphne’s interview on E! promoting the new movie she had coming out that week (an adaptation of _Animal Farm_ , set in a 1980’s high school).

 

Daphne was chewing her nails off, eyes wide and focused as she stared at herself on the screen.

 

The perfectly poised Barbie doll being interviewed by Mario Lopez was nothing like the woman currently sandwiched between Constance and Amita. None of the charm, none of the pizazz was in that woman. Just Daphne, alone.

 

When the network cut to commercials, Daphne sat stone still as the other women watched her, trying to gauge her reaction.

 

“I’m...” Daphne let her jaw hang slack for a moment. “I’m fucked.”

 

“Daph, it was _fine_ – ”

 

“No, it really wasn’t! I sounded like I had no clue what I was talking about, why would they edit the interview that way? Believe me, _none_ of that was real. He asked me real questions, _real fucking questions_ , about like, representation in the film industry and the way gender politics play into how women are treated in the workplace, and they didn’t use _any of it._ ”

 

Rose gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Well, the media twists things, dear...”

 

“Yeah, obviously.” Daphne shook her off before standing up. “Whatever. I need to call my publicist. What a great way to ring in my birthday weekend!!” Before slamming the door on the way out, she exclaimed, “And Mario Lopez is _way less hot_ in person!”

 

As Daphne’s heels clicked on the pavement outside the loft, everyone inside shook their heads.

 

“Wait, did she say _birthday?_ ” Debbie turned to Lou.

 

“On it.” Lou immediately went to the kitchen to grab ingredients for Daphne’s favorite banana bread pudding.

 

“She’ll be okay,” mused Tammy. “I mean, she goes through this kind of thing all the time, right? She’s an actor. She’s always being watched and criticized.”

 

And maybe that was exactly the problem.

 

Daphne Kluger had made it quite apparent to them on multiple occasions that she was not, as she so delicately put it, a “total frickin’ idiot”.

 

She was smart.

 

She was savvy.

 

She was the cool girl, the woman everyone wanted to be and yet, she was impossible to attain.

 

Hell, it was becoming apparent that Daphne herself couldn’t live up to the name and lifestyle of Daphne Kluger.

 

She was losing it, and fast.

 

Nine enlisted Constance and decided to put her videography skills to good use once more.

 

Two days later, on her actual birthday, Daphne sat on a plane headed to Manila, trying and failing to relax, obsessively thinking about the hellish press tour to come.

 

Her phone lit up with an email notification from Constance (who really should change her email to anything other than ‘ItsConstanceYallYEET@gmail.com’).

 

 _happy bday bish,_ read the subject line.

 

Upon opening the attachment, Daphne held her breath as hundreds of fans poured their hearts out, telling her how much they loved her and appreciated her, onscreen and off.

 

It hadn’t taken Nine very long to hack into the number one non-verified source for all Daphne Kluger news, the Twitter account @KlugerStans, and post the video.

 

#WeLoveYouDaphne was trending within half an hour.

 

Daphne Kluger stepped off the plane feeling like a brand new woman.

 

*

 

Of all the women on Debbie’s team, Nine-Ball was most fascinated by Lou.

 

Of course she was. Everyone was.

 

She had first noticed it when they had gone and sat in the park, after Debbie had already left to check out the blind spot. They’d sat on the bench, Nine waiting for Debbie to give her the signal and Lou popping her gum every so often, and the people walking by checked her out. Full out, bug-eyed, open-mouthed _stared_ at Lou; even the gay men. She was so fucking magnetic and no matter how hard she tried, Nine was drawn to her immediately.

 

Part of her couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to be on a team with someone like Lou. And when Lou brought her back to the loft that first day, Nine was preparing for the possibility that _holy fucking shit_ she might be about to fuck the hottest woman she’d ever seen in her life.

 

Debbie walking in had put an end to that real quick.

 

And Nine didn’t mind. There would be other women. And it was so obvious that they were practically married already. Nine had told herself long ago that she would _never_ be the other woman, even if it was for one night. She didn’t need that drama.

 

But there was nothing wrong with a little flirting, right? Lou was certainly always game.

 

When she got her hands on Lou’s laptop, she was fucking _ecstatic._ Nine only talked to herself while she was working if the work _warranted_ talking to herself. Before hacking into Lou’s computer, she had literally cracked her knuckles and mumbled, “Alright, baby, let’s see what you got.”

 

God, she was so into her.

 

If she had been disappointed by the lack of good material on Rose’s laptop, she was _wrecked_ over the lack of scandal on Lou’s. She’d honestly expected a sex tape, but all she got was a plethora of encrypted Excel spreadsheets dealing with money laundering, and a few links to some rather vanilla porn.

 

Damn.

 

Nine-Ball pursed her lips and dug a little deeper. There had to be _something..._

And then she found the music.

 

Hidden in plain sight, right on the desktop.

 

Besides the new bike, the only major purchase Lou had made since becoming a multi-millionaire was that of an absolutely gorgeous baby grand piano. When Amita had tried to pull off the silk sheet covering it, Lou had almost slapped her. And Nine had seen the guitars in Lou’s room when she peeked in from the hallway, but she’d never heard them in action. No one had, besides Debbie, as far as anyone knew.

 

“You know, baby,” she had said at Saturday night dinner one month prior, “you should play us something.”

 

“Ooh, the musical stylings of Lou Miller,” Daphne mused. “I’m intrigued.”

 

“Yes, love! Tinkle those ivories!” Rose clapped.

 

Lou let out a low laugh. “Maybe tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe tomorrow”. Her typical response. She never ended up playing for them – the only time the girls saw the piano without the sheet was when they were all conveniently out. They’d come back giggling, notice the gleaming piano, and give each other little knowing glances.

 

“Hey, Lou,” Tammy would start. “Missed you. What’d _you_ end up doing this afternoon?”

 

Lou would shrug, barely looking up from the Frida Kahlo biography she was reading.

 

Lou had always been a relatively private person, so they decided it was best not to push her any further.

 

Until Nine let her curiosity get the better of her.

 

She hadn’t really considered the repercussions of snooping through literally everyone’s stuff until she had gotten to Lou. There was an inherent trust Lou had with everyone she worked with, even if it took a long time to build up, and perhaps that was her fatal flaw. Nine was hesitant to click on the files; she actually went back and forth with herself on whether to open them or not.

 

Thank God she did, because Lou was _good._

Like, _insanely_ good. And when it came to the piano, _prodigally_ good.

 

Her fingers flew across the keys, and it was clear to Nine-Ball that she had a true love of what she was doing. Which made sense, of course – Lou Miller never did anything with less than 100% of her effort.

 

The guitar pieces were far simpler, but that almost made them better. Lou was an excellent singer as well. Given that her speaking voice sounded like she inhaled three packs a day, Nine-Ball was expecting some deep, gravelly alto to come pouring out of the speakers. She couldn’t have been more surprised to hear the lilt in her voice, the breathiness that somehow was still able to convey the richness and soulfulness of the words she was singing.

 

Was there anything this woman _couldn’t_ do?

 

Lou’s music became Nine’s soundtrack. She’d put it on in the background, she’d listen to it before she fell asleep, it was just _that good._ So naturally, the more music she found, the more closely she’d search through Lou’s laptop, because if _this_ was hidden on there, there had to be something else.

 

She found the list of dates and times at the end of a long Word document of Keats poetry.

 

Every Tuesday, at 3:00, Lou went out to get her bike serviced.

 

Or so she said.

 

But the closest shop was only three miles away, and the address listed in the document was in Queens.

 

Under the guise of wanting to learn how to skateboard, Nine-Ball and Constance took the subway down one Tuesday shortly after the heist was complete. As Constance dipped into her apartment to grab a second board, Nine slipped out the door and wandered down the street until she found the place she was looking for.

 

She was met with far more questions than answers, because what would Lou possibly be doing at a domestic violence shelter?

 

“Excuse me, can I assist you with anything?”

 

A bright-eyed man in a blue shirt who looked like he was around Nine-Ball’s age stood in front of her, smiling.

 

“Nah...nah, I’m just looking for a friend, I think she comes by here sometimes?”

 

“Unfortunately I can’t disclose any personal information of anyone we’re housing at the moment, but – ”

 

“No, she doesn’t stay here. She...I dunno.”

 

“Oh, she might be a volunteer then. Here,” he handed Nine an information pamphlet. “I still can’t tell you about who comes through, but if you’re ever interested in working with us, there’s a number you can call at the bottom.”

 

Back at the loft later that night, the pamphlet resting beside her on the arm of her chair, blunt in hand, Lou’s music playing softly in the background, Nine was scrolling through her Instagram feed when:

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Nine had never slammed her laptop closed so fast in her life.

 

Lou stood at the edge of the kitchen, just a few feet away from where Nine-Ball was laying haphazardly across her seat.

 

“Nuthin’.”

 

A small grin played across Lou’s lips. “Okay.” She turned, grabbing a pitcher of water from the fridge and a glass from the cabinet above her head.

 

Sipping on her water, Lou moved towards the couch across from Nine and sat down, curling her legs underneath her.

 

“You want?” Nine offered her the blunt.

 

Lou shrugged and took it between her fingers. “3 AM. Why not.” She inhaled.

 

Aside from the one time they’d all sat in a circle and passed one around, Lou and Constance were the only two who would smoke with Nine on a semi-regular basis, and Lou was the only one who could make a French inhale look like the sexiest thing in the world.

 

Lou let out a loud moan. “You always have the best shit...,” she mumbled. “Fuck me...”

 

_Yeah, that’s what I was TRYING to do two months ago, you clueless lesbian._

 

“Ain’t that what you have Deb for?”

 

Lou snorted before glancing back towards her bedroom. “She’s asleep.” Nine nodded before Lou continued. “What are you doing up?”

 

“Could ask you the same, mama.”

 

“I asked first.” Lou sipped her water.

 

Nine pursed her lips. “Lookin’ up stuff for V for college. She’s tryna do early admission and I have no idea how any of this shit works.”

 

“Well, no need to stop on my account. Go ahead,” Lou nodded towards the laptop, a twinkle in her eye.

 

Nine sighed as she opened the computer and the music started playing once more.

 

Lou leaned back a bit, smirking. “Caught you.” Setting the glass down, she spread out on the couch, blue silk robe billowing open around bare legs. “So. You’ve looked into all of us. Find anything good?”

 

Nine was sputtering. She covered her tracks, she _always_ covered her tracks...

 

“Amita couldn’t shut up about the Taylor Swift tickets. It was pretty easy to figure out from there.”

 

Well, damn.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Lou ran a hand through her hair. “No need to apologize. But now you’ve got me curious.”

 

“’Kay. Let’s talk, then. What’s this?” Nine tossed the pamphlet over to Lou.

 

After glancing down at it for a few seconds, Lou lifted her head.

 

“You want to find out?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Tomorrow. 2:15.” Lou leaned forward to grab her glass, glancing up just in time to catch Nine-Ball staring at her cleavage. She smirked.

 

“You like what you see?”

 

Nine swallowed hard before throwing on a flirty smile of her own. “You know I do, sexy.”

 

Wrapping the robe around her a little tighter, Lou winked. “So does Deb.”

 

_Rude._

 

So that’s how Nine-Ball ended up back in Queens the next day, having tailed Lou’s bike, walking into the shelter roughly fifteen minutes after Lou did, because if anyone could get someone like Nine to volunteer at a domestic violence shelter, of course it would be Lou.

 

She could’ve left. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t. Nine-Ball had done a lot of shit out of the goodness of her heart or whatever before, and it never seemed to turn out the way she wanted.

 

But seeing all the women, and the children, and the _love_...it reminded her of her sister.

 

So she stuck around.

 

Matt, the same volunteer who had spoken to her the day before, approached her after she finished her paperwork.

 

“We need people on phones, mostly,” he started, leading Nine down a long corridor. “But one of the other volunteers actually requested you shadow her.” He opened a door, and Nine-Ball stepped inside.

 

And she couldn’t have been more surprised to see Lou sitting in the corner in a bean bag chair that was definitely not made for a woman of her stature, reading a battered copy of _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ to the three-year-old boy who was cuddled in her arms. There were a couple of other children around her and when Lou raised her head and made eye contact with Nine, she ushered her over with a wave of her hand.

 

“Do you wanna read with Miss Leslie?” Lou whispered to the girls on her immediate right, eyes bright.

 

The girls, who appeared to be twins, toddled over to Nine-Ball, _Goodnight, Moon_ in hand. One of the girls held the book out expectantly.

 

After a nod of encouragement from Lou, Nine nestled in and the two women fell into a comfortable, quiet routine for the next hour of their lives.

 

When the clock on the wall read 3:30, the door opened and a handful of older women bustled in, the children immediately running into their arms. Nine-Ball leaned against a table as she watched Lou carry a drowsy toddler over to her mother, whispering “wake up, ladybug” into her ear right before handing her off.

 

“Thank you so much for watching her so last minute,” the mother said, giving Lou a quick hug. “You’re so good with them, they love you so much.”

 

“Always a pleasure.” Lou’s arms were folded across her chest, her signature territorial stance, but she was smiling and she didn’t tear her eyes away from the child.

 

As everyone filtered out, Lou turned to Nine-Ball. “Alright. You have two minutes to ask me whatever you want. Go.”

 

“Uh...shit, okay, how long have – ”

 

“Five years.”

 

_Whoa._

“I lived in one of these for a few months after I left home. They do really good work.”

 

“Deb know you come here?”

 

Lou shook her head. “She’ll figure it out eventually. Have some sort of quip about how I’ve gone soft.”

 

They walked out the door and started down the hallway.

 

“I mean...between this and your love songs, looks like you already have, mama.”

 

Lou laughed, before shaking her head. “Multifaceted, love. Never soft.”

 

“Why you still hang around here, then?”

 

Lou cast a sideways glance in her direction before pointing in the direction of a family of four. “Look at them,” she said, quietly. “How could I not?”

 

They stood in comfortable silence for a while until Lou pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.

 

“I’m staying for another hour or so, you’re welcome to stick around if you like. If not, I’ll see you back at the loft.” Lou folded the paper into Nine’s hand. “Purple hair, 9:00. Michelle. Thinks you’re cute. This is her number.” Nine turned around and made brief eye contact with a petite, nose-ring-wearing girl, who quickly looked away as a blush crept up her neck.

 

“You serious?”

 

Lou was already walking away, but before she turned the corner, she looked back at Nine. “You mess with our lives, we’re gonna mess with yours.” She smirked. “Love you.”

 

Going back-and-forth between Lou’s retreating form and the scrawled handwriting on the crumpled piece of notebook paper, Nine ultimately shoved the paper in her pocket and walked towards Michelle.

 

And for once in her life, after the best first date ever, she refrained from doing an obsessive social media search that would tell her who exactly Michelle Castello was.

 

Because she was having a hell of a great time discovering her _without_ the assistance of her laptop.

 

*

 

And as for Nine-Ball’s footprint...

 

She’ll never tell.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! as always, i'm open to prompts.
> 
> please please pLEASE leave a comment!! I love getting feedback and comments are my lifeline. If you comment, I'll send you one (1) male celebrity who Daphne Kluger thinks is far more attractive than Mario Lopez.
> 
> love you <3


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